


One More Breath

by dreamsofdramione



Series: Lush [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDD, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Restricted Section's Kinktober 2020, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, emotional smut, kink club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: Hermione can almost see the spots clouding his vision, the vibrations of magic humming in the air, connecting them all on some plane they have yet to willingly reach. It feels heavy, like a promise—like a wish unknown and unrealized until that very moment.-Hermione & Pansy return to Lush.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Lush [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987732
Comments: 16
Kudos: 191
Collections: 2020Kinktober





	One More Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober 2020 hosted by [The Resticted Section on Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/groups/restricted.section.fanfic/).  
> Assigned Kink: Breathplay

Though it’s been less than a week since Hermione stepped into the club, she knows much more about it now. 

The lights are still dim and the couches are still packed; the sidewall is still lined with bottles of liquor older than most people she knows, yet nothing looks the same.

Her ever-present need to discover every possible detail, coupled with her current position in records at the Ministry gave her ample time and opportunity to look into the establishment over the last few days.

It was purely curiosity, she tells herself— _lying again._

Owned by Blaise Zabini, Lush is completely above board—on paper. With anonymous investors who were too easy to unearth through the trail of deposits and withdrawals, and just a hint of a hunch, it appears to be funded primarily by his school friends. With this hidden knowledge, it makes sense a certain someone seems to be a frequent presence. 

Pansy looks like sin on stilettos when she cuts an impatient glance back at Hermione. Her eyes are rimmed with kohl and her lips are painted a sheer pink—a study in contrasts if she’s ever seen one. But even her black dress, darker than the midnight sky, is designer silk. Hermione knows nothing is as simple it seems as she watches the silk slide across peaked nipples with each sway of Pansy’s hips. 

Hermione, too, feels like a stark contrast to the woman who grips her wrist and leads her through the room. While Pansy dons the sumptuous silk, Hermione wears simple cotton—a wrap dress with a basic polka dot print that sits a little higher on her thighs than she normally allows. She’s wearing heels, too, though they only add an inch whereas Pansy’s seem to give the witch at least six.

Weaving through the tables, they pass their normal couch, round the bend at the bar, and before Hermione realizes it, she’s being tugged into a far corner and led down a nondescript hallway. 

“Where are we—”

“It doesn’t do to ask questions. You enjoyed last time, right?” Pansy bats her lashes and Hermione can only manage a nod. “Then don’t worry that bushy little head of yours.” 

Though it’s meant to be an insult, there is no edge in her tone. 

Grand wooden doors open to a spacious room. It’s one she recognizes. The only one, she supposes. The setting of each of her recent dreams. 

Pansy snatches a piece of parchment off the bed, skimming it quickly, while Hermione is still rooted in place just inside the door. 

“He’s going to be late.” Crumpling up the parchment, she flicks it to the side and spins on her heels, taking slow, measured steps back towards Hermione. “Pity.” It sounds like anything but.

No one knows the art of seduction as well as Pansy Parkinson. There’s an ease to the flutter of her fingers, a grace to the way she slides the silk off her shoulders, and steps out of her dress like it's an inconvenience rather than a piece of fabric that likely costs more than Hermione’s monthly salary. 

In nothing more than scraps of sheer, green lace and heels so high she looks like she might tip forward if she had even an ounce less grace, Pansy closes the distance between them. One slim arm slips around Hermione’s shoulders and there’s no question as to her intent. Deft fingers pluck the belt of Hermione’s wrap dress, before sharp nails drag along the curve of Hermione’s waist, trailing the pressure up to her shoulders and pushing the dress off with practiced ease. 

There is no preamble when their lips meet in a tangle of tongues. Pansy swallows the sound of Hermoine’s moan like it's syrup, licking up every little noise.

A firm palm—small, smooth, _soft—_ slides along the plane between her breasts and down the very same curve of her stomach Pansy had kissed the first time Hermione had found a speck of shame and tried to cover herself. Pansy cups her through the satin of the lingerie set she’d sent over earlier in the week. Hermione thinks about the scrawl of the slip of thick paper and sighs into another kiss. 

_Wear this for me. - P_

Nimble fingers slip beneath the elastic and slide right along her already throbbing core. 

“So wet for me already, love. Such a good girl.” Pansy’s tongue is sweeter than her words when it invades Hermione’s mouth again. 

If Pansy is the predator, Hermione is her willing prey when she’s pulled towards the bed and pressed flat against the impossibly soft sheets. Pansy looms over her, still clad in nothing more than a slim excuse for lace and heels. The edge of nails scratch along her thighs when Pansy pulls her knickers down and tosses them aside like the inconvenience they surely are. 

Hermine’s knees shake and her thighs clench as Pansy’s tongue charts a path through her sodden folds and sucks her clit between painted lips. Her back bows when she threads her fingers through silky strands of jet black hair. She tugs, just a little, just enough, just the way Pansy likes it, and she can feel the scape of blunt teeth against her clit just before her cunt pulses, already nearing the edge of impending bliss. 

No one has ever known her body the way Pansy does. No one has ever devoted as much time to reading her responses and calculating the meaning behind each cue. Pansy knows when Hermione sighs she wants more, when she whimpers it’s almost enough, and when she moans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates in the thickened air, she’s about to come. 

Unlike last time, Pansy doesn’t stop. 

Her tongue laves at the throbbing flesh of her core and her fingers push past the clench of her cunt and Pansy says something, some fragment of a thought, before nipping the nub between Hermione’s thighs again and drinking every drop of her subsequent release.

“Surely you can do better than that, Parkinson. Granger almost sounded bored.” 

Hermione’s eyes snap open. She wants to lean up and look, to confirm that voice is here and real and ready for whatever the two of them have planned tonight, but she’s powerless against the aftereffects of her first climax, sated and sucking in breath after breath.

“She can.” Pansy almost sounds proud when she lifts her head from between Hermione’s spread thighs and licks her lips clean. “And she will.” 

Long, lazy steps carry him closer and the tap of Draco’s shoes against the high polished floors is a rhythm her heartbeat outpaces by more than double. 

“She’s a quick study, too.” There it is again, that hint of pride colouring Pansy’s otherwise sharp tone. “But nothing facilitates learning as fast as hands-on experience.” Those soft, smooth palms press against Hermione’s thighs, trailing up to meet the swell of her hip. “Right, Granger?”

Hermione swallows as the last pulses of pleasure fizzle at the frayed edges of her nerves. 

“Is that what this is?” Draco’s behind Pansy and Hermione leans up to watch his long fingers wrap around the other witch’s hips. “Research?”

The answer should be yes, it is, after all, what she and Pansy have been doing for the last few months, ticking off boxes on a veritable list of kinks, working through their own curiosities using one other’s bodies as the study material. But she’s lied to herself enough, and she thinks that if some kernel of truth doesn’t work its way into these nights, they might not be real. 

Hermione shakes her head and Draco only arches a brow as his fingertips press harder against the thin skin covering Pansy’s hips.

“No,” she says simply, watching the woman currently in his clutches lean her head back against his broad shoulders. Even in stilettos, Pansy’s frame is dwarfed by Draco’s. She’s petite, to say the least, and Hermione presses her thighs together again at the visual of them together. 

Another study in contrasts, she thinks, the black bob of Pansy’s hair next to the shock of white-blond. 

And suddenly she knows nothing. 

Everything isn’t black and white anymore, there are shades, colors, eons layered in the distance between one end of the spectrum and the other. 

Blond, black, brown. 

Contrast isn’t just between two opposites, but can three form something like a compliment? 

Hermione’s thoughts fade into scattered fragments floating beyond her grasp as long, slender fingers slide into Pansy’s knickers. She can do little more than watch. They’re thin enough that she can see every move beneath the veil of intricate lace. Draco lowers his lips to the cap of Pansy’s shoulder, but instead of licking or sucking, he widens his jaw and sinks his teeth into the jut of bone. 

Pansy hisses through clenched teeth as she lengthens the line of her neck and Draco bites every inch between her shoulder and her ear. He’s whispering something Hermione can’t hear. Pansy’s eyes flutter open, sharp yet unfocused when they land on Hermione just a space away. 

“Our good girl likes to watch.” Polished nails scrape against Draco’s scalp and Pansy tilts her chin down to meet Hermione’s eyes. “Don’t you, love?” 

“Y—yes,” she breathes. 

Hermione lets her gaze roam over the two still standing in front of her. She can see Draco’s fingers working Pansy into an easily achieved frenzy. There’s a soft flush covering every one of Pansy’s curves, a pink sheen over her typically pale pallor. 

The differences in Pansy’s responses are notably numerous. She’s pliant in Draco’s arms, instead of firm in Hermione’s. She even sounds different under Draco’s study. Her gasps are nothing more than wisps of fragmented breaths as she nears her peak. A whimper slips past her polished lips when Draco reaches up to pinch a nipple at the same time his hand in her knickers starts to swirl around her clit.

They’re familiar. That much is evident. 

Just how familiar, Hermione doesn’t know, but rather than even a tint of jealousy, she feels her own core clench in response. A rush of warmth seeps from her seam and Hermione can’t hold back any longer. She slips a hand between her thighs and watches as Draco drags Pansy’s pliant body to the edge of oblivion. Her own knees are knocking together and her hands start to tremble when Pansy’s moan echoes around the recesses of the cavernous room. 

Draco’s whispering something to Pansy again. Hermione doesn’t even need to hear it to know what effect it’s having on her lover. A full-body shiver snakes up Hermione’s spine when Draco pushes his drenched fingers into Pansy’s mouth. Hermione watches rouged cheeks suck each digit clean before dark eyes slice over to meet hers. 

“Enjoying the show, Granger?” 

The rumble of Draco’s deep voice tips her over the edge. With one, two, three more swipes of her fingers, Hermione keens as release washes over her once more. 

Her eyes are still pressed closed and she’s gulping in gasps of air when she feels herself being shifted, moved, pushed up the bed and against the pillows, then framed by each of her lovers for the night. If she sits here a moment longer, she thinks, stewing in the shared sensations of hard and soft, firm and plush, she thinks she can fool herself into believing this is real—that is something she can _want,_ something she _can_ have. 

But her train of thought derails when she feels the heavy line of Draco’s cock press against her ass just as slim fingers begin to toy with her nipples. Allowing her eyes to crack open in the dim light, she realizes there’s now not a stitch of cloth between the three, save for the sheet bunched around their feet. She isn’t even sure when or how they’d undressed, but she guesses it’s another bit of that wandless, wordless magic she’d seen Draco use before.

Pansy’s fingers curl around her hip and she pushes Hermione back and turns her to face Draco, sliding her tongue up the length of Hermione’s throat. “Bloody gorgeous, isn’t he?” 

Hermione’s eyes dance along the ridges of Draco’s stomach, curving down and around the cut of his well-defined hips. She nods because it’s true. Here and now, without expensive, tailored fabric to uphold any of the facade, he looks bare in a way that’s befitting of nothing less than honesty. She wants to put words to the thoughts racing around her brain, but her pulse spikes as Pansy pinches a tender nipple between sharp nails. 

“How do you want us?” Pansy asks and Hermione is struck once again by the differences in their dynamics. 

When they’re alone, Pansy is the same take-charge, no-nonsense woman Hermoine has developed a ravenous taste for. But here, now, with Draco’s sharp gaze raking over every inch of Hermione’s body, Pansy is asking instead of telling, giving instead of taking, and Hermione can’t help but feel affection for both sides of the woman pressed against her back. Soft lips skirt against her shoulder leaving a steady line of kisses. 

“I think I’d like to see Granger’s face buried between your thighs first.” The casual way he says it makes Hermione’s core clench, and she can feel the bite of Pansy’s teeth, too. 

Neither is unaffected. 

In the spirit of being laid bare, she leans into his whims and turns to push Pansy onto her back. 

Their eyes connect as Hermione trails kisses down Pansy’s sternum, but Hermione doesn’t look away as she sucks a hardened nipple into her mouth. She holds the other witch’s steady gaze as she laves her tongue around the bud. Fresh bruises bloom on the expanse of pale skin. Pansy is a canvas, one pristine and pale, now marked with red lines and bites, deep swaths of darkening skin like ink blossoming across fresh parchment. 

“Just like that.” Draco is laying against Pansy’s side and running his palm along the still damp skin of their lover’s breasts.

Hermione moves lower and presses two palms against Pansy’s knees before they fall open with ease. The inviting view of her dripping core calls to the carnal need building inside of Hermione. 

Pansy was right, she is a quick study, and over the last few months, she’s amassed a veritable text of the brunette’s responses. When she tweaks her tongue along her seam, Pansy’s lashes flutter against her cheeks. When she twists two fingers into her core, Pansy’s chest heaves. And when she sucks in time with the pumping of her wrist, soaking in the squelch of her impending release, Pansy’s back bends off the bed and her scream reaches every corner of the massive room. 

Before she can even suck in a full breath, she is being tugged back up the bed and laid flat. 

Hermione is between them again when Draco captures her in a kiss, murmuring _just a taste_ , before taking far more. His fingertips press bruises into the curve of her ass as he lifts her knee and pulls it back, draping it over the swell of his hip. With smooth strokes, he lets his cock drag between the lips of her pulsing core, still throbbing from her earlier climax, yet inexplicably ready for more. 

The tip of Draco’s cock nudges her clit and Hermione gasps, pressing her eyes shut, and throwing her head back against Pansy’s shoulder. The other woman wraps an arm around her waist. She thinks she could come right here, right now from nothing more than the feeling of them alone. But it stops before she can careen over the edge into oblivion. 

Pansy tilts Hermione back away from the contact and tuts against her ear, nipping the lobe with a sharp sting that’s more pleasure than pain. “I’m not quite done with you yet, love. Up on your knees.”

A smirk curls at the edge of Draco’s lips and Hermione watches as he and Pansy have some sort of silent exchange. They’re more familiar than any old school chums, and Hermione has always been too smart to overlook obvious signs. It’s clear there’s history between them, she can see an ease only achieved after months, years, decades of learning the bends of one another’s bodies. It strikes her then, why she’s the one who seems to be the focus of their evening. She’s their new toy, theirs to play with, theirs to mould around his cock and her cunt, theirs to get off and theirs to tend to. She wonders what that might feel like, without the screen of sex and fog of release to cloud their motivations. She wonders—

Pansy taps her knees and Hermione shakes her head free of the thoughts. “Turn around. Yeah, just like that.”

“Good girl,” Draco says when Hermione readily obeys. 

Hemione knows what Pansy wants when she taps her knees again, so she shuffles back and back as Pansy slides between her thighs. With her knees bracketing Pansy’s head like this, her lover’s pretty, pink pussy is in full view. She’s tempted to lean forward and take another taste. But nails dig into her thighs when Pansy pulls her down and the last coherent thought she has as Pansy drags her tongue against Hermione’s dripping core is that her knees might give out. 

“Unghhh.” Hermione’s hands drift up, cupping her own breasts as Pansy feasts on her like she’s never eaten a proper meal before, which is so far from the truth it would be laughable if Hermione could process even a single, solitary thought. “Oh, gods.” She whimpers and writhes, lost to the dance of Pansy’s silky tongue, grounded by the bite of sharp nails against her thighs. 

Then Draco is there, pressing Pansy’s knees wide and slipping into the space between them. Hermione can only watch as he grips himself and drags the head of his cock through the line of Pansy’s cunt. His eyes flick up to meet hers and Hermione already knows what he wants. It’s strange, how after only a short time she can read his cues, too. She wonders if he’s always been as easily identifiable as answers in an open book test or if maybe she just happens to have a talent for interpreting his particular brand of subtle subtexts. 

He tilts back on his haunches as Hermione leans down until there’s only an inch between her lips and his cock. The sheen of Pansy’s arousal coats the tip of his length, teasing her to take a taste, but she doesn’t open her mouth or press forward. She looks up into expectant grey eyes and waits. Pansy’s tongue is still swirling around her core in long, languorous strokes. Her lover knows slow and steady won’t get her off, but that doesn’t stop the fire from building in her core. 

Draco taps her lips with the cock. “Suck.”

Hermione has always been one to follow rules, so she does. She sucks off every last drop of Pansy’s essence before he twists his fingers in her mass of hair and pushes himself to the back of her throat. She nearly chokes but recovers before his next thrust. 

“Good girl. Taking my cock like it belongs in that pretty little mouth of yours.” Draco’s praise sits heavy on her skin, a blanket of warmth that makes her shiver. “Can you get off like this? With your mouth stretched around my cock and Pansy’s tongue dragging against her cunt?”

Hermione moans her assent but doesn’t pull away. It’s only fair she gets to watch him lose control, too.

When her knees begin to tremble and her thighs ache from the crescent-shaped indents of Pansy’s manicured nails, she finally pulls back and sucks in a gasp of breath. Draco tugs her up and shifts forward to slide his tongue in her mouth, drinking in her groans as Pansy finally, _finally_ lets her come. Deft hands slide down the curve of her neck, over the swell of her breasts, and around until he cups her ass. 

His breath is hot and heavy against her ear when he whispers, “Now lay down like a good little girl and watch me fuck your girlfriend until she’s saying my name like it’s the only word she knows.”

If Hermione had her head on straight, she might have corrected him, but all she can manage is a strangled, _“Yes.”_

Pansy throws an arm out the side, open and inviting, waiting for Hermione to curl into the space she’s come to consider a favourite. Pale thighs are still spread wide when Draco slides back between them, dragging his length against her seam again with a different objective this time. Neither of them moves an inch as they watch Draco coat his length in her juices. Pansy’s soaked clean through the sheets, the sound of her own natural arousal punctuates the silence broken only by heaving breaths. 

“He has,” Pansy gasps when Draco shoves himself in with one smooth snap of his hips. “He has an unnatural amount of self-control, love. What do you say we break that?” 

Something flashes in Pansy’s eyes as a smirk twists her lips before she leans forward and shoves her tongue in Hermione’s mouth. It’s instinct then, for Hermione’s hand to curve around the swell of Pansy’s cheek, a practiced motion that leads to her fingers tangling in baby-fine hair and moaning her assent against parted lips between stolen breaths. 

Draco groans, a deep, distant sound, but Hermione is entirely focused on the feel of Pansy’s tongue delving into her mouth. She feels something shift before she wrenches her mouth away. 

Large hands are curled around Pansy’s knees, pulling her open, spreading her wider, and Hermione watches with rapt attention as Pansy reaches a polished hand up and cups the front of Draco’s pale throat. His eyes narrow in what she thinks is a challenge before Draco leans down and presses himself flat against Pansy’s front. Up close, she watches as Pansy scratches her nails along the column of Draco’s throat, squeezing slightly around his Adam’s apple. His hips snap faster in response. 

It’s beautiful, another contrast she notes, to watch the already pale skin bloom white under the pressure of Pansy’s fingertips. She has a flash of memory from their last time together, the same scene with different positions, and it all makes more sense. But unlike the quick squeeze she recalls, Hermione can see the pressure build as Pansy’s fingers continue to tighten around Draco’s windpipe. He chokes out a chorus of curses and Hermione can hear Pansy murmuring praise in response. 

When he presses his eyes shut, she’s sure not an ounce of air can snake down his throat. His lips are parted and they’re so close, his chin hovering between their bare shoulders. She scoots forward until her side is pressed against Pansy’s and hooks one of Pansy’s knees over her hip, tilting her lover up in time for Draco to hiss at the change in position. 

His thrusts are slower now, but still equally as brutal, and Hermione closes the last bit of scant space between her mouth and Draco’s, letting her lips graze his and breathe the air Pansy’s depriving him of. 

It’s heady in that moment, the pulse of power that throbs in her core, and Hermione takes a page out of both of their books when she whispers, “Come,” before licking the line of his lower lip. 

He does. In an instant, his eyes opening wide and his hips dig into Pansy’s thighs. She can almost see the spots clouding his vision, the vibrations of magic humming in the air, connecting them all on some plane they have yet to willingly reach. It feels heavy, like a promise—like a wish unknown and unrealized until that very moment. Pansy’s fingers peel back from the abused skin of Draco’s neck just as he surges forward to suck the very breath from Hermione’s lungs.

She’ll breathe for him, she thinks, gripping the strands of fine blond hair and tugging on his scalp until they’re moulded so close together that she has no idea where she ends and he begins. 

* * *

It feels like they’re petting one another, slow drags of featherlight fingertips skating along curves and over every dip and valley anyone can reach. The moment is rich with want, heavy with meaning, and Hermione lets the air soak into her pores, thick with the smell of sweat and sex and still buzzing with an undercurrent of magic. 

She has a fleeting thought, a rouge notion of this same scene in a more familiar place, but before she can decide if she wants to put a voice to those wayward ideas, she’s swept up in Pansy’s kiss and floating under the pressure of Draco’s palms. Sandwiched between their bodies, she knows that if they never let her get up, she would be the last to complain. 

“Draco,” Pansy hums against Hermione’s lips, letting her fingers trace patterns against the tender skin of Hermione’s shoulder. “You said something earlier that I think deserves a correction.”

The heady afterglow of their coupling bleeds away and Hermione can hear her heart thumping hard in her ears. 

Draco lifts himself up on an elbow and peers over Hermione. “Did I?”

“Mhm.” 

Hermione is shocked silent, and because she doesn’t know any better, she wonders if this little show is rehearsed. 

“You called Granger my girlfriend.”

And just like that, the moment shatters as Hermione sucks in a breath. They both stare at her with equally mischievous grins. She feels like she’s on display. 

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? Well, you can see why I would assume such a thing. Right, Granger?” 

Hermione blinks, frozen in time and space, and she thinks that her earlier notion of staying here forever now sounds rather sour. Her heart is in play in this dangerous game, but she’d never intended to leverage it over soft touches and sated moans. It was never meant to be a bargaining chip. She gulps and tries to think of a response, but Pansy must pick up on her unease because a gentle caress against the curve of her cheek pulls her into a soft, slow kiss. 

“Would you be?” Pansy asks, her lips feathering kisses against the corner of Hermione’s mouth. “My girlfriend, I mean. Or maybe…”

Hermione can see the apprehension written plain as day across her face. She softens at the sign of a fissure in the cool, collected facade. 

_Would she? Yes. Absolutely. But after discovering this, whatever this unnamed draw is between the three, could she? She honestly doesn’t know._

“You do know our dear Pansy here is one for theatrics, yeah?” Draco presses a kiss to the curve of Hermione’s jaw. “What she means to say is _ours,_ Granger.” His hands slide around Hermione’s hips and he presses his cock against the swell of her ass. “Would you be ours?”

Hemione can’t breathe. Every particle of air must have been sucked out of the room without her knowing because suddenly she can’t seem to trap even a single breath. 

They do this to her, she knows, put her in these moments when everything is too big and she feels so small, standing on the edge of some great divide she wants nothing more than to dive off of. It’s that stupid Gryffindor courage, she rationalizes as she nods her head when words fail her, that tendency to rush into things and live every moment as if it could be her last. 

Draco's fingers tighten around her hip as he slowly rocks against her and the last coherent thoughts Hermione can form that night are about how soft Pansy’s kiss-swollen lips will feel the next morning, how the hard lines of Draco’s body might feel soft after steeping in slumber. Opposite, yet equal. Different, yet the same. They may all look like some form of contradiction, but she hopes they blend into the shades of grey between the layers of whatever life throws at them next.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my last minute pre-readers: [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie), [inadaze22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inadaze22/pseuds/inadaze22). Also huge thanks to my alpha and fellow admin for TRS [msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin). This piece is unbetad because deadlines and I do not always get along. lol. Please excuse any errors I might have overlooked.
> 
> Come join us over in [The Resticted Section on Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/groups/restricted.section.fanfic/) for more triad/multi content! Also please take a few to check out other stories in the Kinktober collection! We've had some excellent entries and they're all worth a read!
> 
> What did you guys think of the second installment in this series? Ideally, I'd like to write more with these three when inspiration strikes. Hope you enjoyed this little dip into depravity! 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](https://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com)!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for reading! Comments & kudos **always appreciated!**


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